


Psychotic Episodes à la Mode or: Shameless Scrumptious Confections for the Self-Proclaimed Trash Cans At Heart

by escavatedanastasia



Series: Scrumptious [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Apartment AU, BDSM, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Petplay, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4705232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escavatedanastasia/pseuds/escavatedanastasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>{the author highly insists that you read their previous work, Scrumptious, beforehand, so as to not get too freaked out by the subject matter these episodes are going to explore}<br/>Random drabbles that were meant to be put in Scrumptious but had little to do with the plot so they were scrapped. Now they're here for your enjoyment (or discomfort).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eclair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, Aster and Jack and the occasional Pitch are answering most comments because the author doesn't know how to answer without getting flustered.

Pitch clutched Aster's pink ruffled leash in his grey hand as he leaned against the chartreuse sofa. He had been petsitting Aster at his own apartment for an hour to help him get into his half-form and headspace. The half-form came easily; all Pitch had to do afterwards was get the rabbit into his lingerie, body straps and collar to keep him confined to it, and he remained about four feet tall if you didn't count the ears. It was, however, difficult to notice when his mental state voluntarily deteriorated. Maybe the man was just being derogatory toward his boyfriend, but Aster never did get particularly mischievous or playful around Pitch like he did with Jack. On the contrary, when he was with his older boyfriend he was reserved and mature, not unlike how he usually was. The only difference so far was that the bell on his collar sounded with every movement. It existed so that the rabbit's owners always knew where he was if he ever wandered off in the penthouse.  
The towering man lifted himself from the chartreuse sofa in his living room, dropping the leash for a moment and instructing Aster to stay. Aster was nonchalantly scratching his face with his foot, which was nothing new. Pitch could always ask, but that might interrupt his descent, and bring him back to awareness. He instead grabbed a silver water bowl from one of the kitchen cabinets and took a can of broth from the refrigerator to pour in half the contents. Pitch then set the dish beside his feet on the tile floor, where it made a small clatter as it hit the surface. Pitch watched Aster's ears perk up at the sound, before quickly hopping over and lapping it up on all fours. Pitch had told him to stay, but he would let it slide just this once. They would work on practical tricks later. He knew that cold broth definitely wasn't Aster's favorite meal, knowing that if he tossed him some carrot cake he would gobble it up immediately, whether or not he was in pet mode. But it was only after finishing that Aster became fully instinctual, batting cheerfully at Pitch's toes and supposedly losing his barriers for the night.  
The pooka looked very polished that day, his huge peridot eyes in a dreamlike state as Pitch tugged his leash back through the kitchen into the living room again, thick pink collar digging into his neck fluff. The man reached over to adjust the big bow on his collar to make him look prissy and proper for Jack, his other boyfriend who was coming straight from work to Pitch's flat so that the three of them could all play together. Pitch wasn't feeling particularly sadistic that evening, and was only there to tell him what he couldn't do, which made him quite the boring pet owner, in Aster's opinion. Don't run too fast. Don't get up on the furniture. Don't lick my feet, it tickles. The rabbit usually responded to these with an irritated hiss. Although he was obviously playing his own species in pet mode, he did enjoy taking on some catlike traits, feeling graceful enough to make it convincing. If Aster ever did step out of line, Pitch was always the first to rat him out to Jack, and Jack would shake his head and breathe a sigh of disappointment, which would result in a timeout or a few sharp smacks on the rear. Aster winced at the thought. Jack was, of course, and excellent owner, whose main activities included praising Aster and rewarding him with treats. But on occasion, he was known to give a good spanking. So, conclusively, Aster strived not to let his pet self get too controlling. He was a very good boy when he wanted to be, and he prided himself in this, like he did with most things.  
Suddenly, the lock on the front door clicked open. Aster squealed and grabbed the leash from Pitch with his lacy gloved paws, letting the end dangle from his mouth as he assumed his position in the entrance.  
Jack swung the door open, only to be greeted by his loving bunny rabbit. The teen grinned as he patted his knees for him to come to him.  
“Miss me?” The teen asked as he ruffled the pooka's head fur affectionately.  
“He went into headspace about a half hour after I arrived,” Pitch informed him. “He's been very anxious for a walk.”  
Aster nodded in confirmation, leash remaining in mouth as his tail quivered in anticipation.  
“Sorry princess, no walkies today,” Jack spoke with a groove of sympathy in his voice as he set his blue messenger bag on the kitchen island. Aster let the leash fall to the floor, disappointed.  
“I did notice that his fur looked awfully filthy today,” Pitch offered from the couch. “Maybe our little pet needs a nice bath to simmer down.”  
The rabbit shook his head aggressively, his ears twitching. He hated baths. It didn't even depend on the person who drew the bath on any given day; Pitch made it a smidge too hot and Jack always made it a nip too cold, so it wasn't so much the water itself he resisted, but rather the temperature. Not to mention that the shampoo brand they used had a tendency to get into his large, easily-accessible eyes, which made him yowl in pain until someone gave him a towel to rub his eyes with. Had he been a regular rabbit, bathing would not be a very good activity to engage in at all, seeing as it was very unhealthy. But he was no regular rabbit, he stood six-foot—oh, um, four-foot eleven, and he only took brief showers and sessions of self-grooming.  
Aster shivered under Pitch's scrutinizing glare as he was looked over, already punishing himself for collecting stray hairs and dust in his fur from wandering around for the past thirty minutes or so. The silver bell on his collar jangled as he lowered his head, Jack following Pitch's gaze.  
“Come to think of it, we haven't bathed him in quite a while,” the teen admitted.  
A week. It had only been a week. It was like they were being intentionally stupid.  
“I'll fill it up,” he concluded, running his hands through his stark white hair as he turned back to Pitch. “You can go ahead and get him ready.”  
Aster made a sulking face. Time to freeze to death.  
Pitch nodded passively, whistling Aster over to the front of his bent knees. Jack started down the hallway towards the bathroom. The older man pushed himself off the sofa and knelt down to silently remove Aster's body straps and lingerie. The pooka fumed. Crawling into his headspace wasn't going to help his cause to prevent his inevitable bathing. Why was Pitch always taking out his boredom on his pet? Jack and Aster were not planning on having intercourse; this past week had been dedicated to Aster's submissive persona's behavior outside of sex. So the biggest reward this ordeal would get is a chocolate and maybe a later bedtime. That didn't compare to getting fucked by his almost-fiancé, but alas, we must make sacrifices for our loved ones.  
“’M not that dirty...” Aster vainly attempted to argue as he lifted a leg for Pitch to pull his stocking off of.  
“Whatever you say, teddy bear,” the man chuckled in reply. “I'd be surprised if you didn't have fleas. We have to clean you up before your bedtime. Now turn around. I mean, roll over. Silly me.”  
Aster harrumphed in annoyance, pivoting his body around to let Pitch untie the ribbon around his tail.  
“Why don't we go over and see if Jack is just about finished?” Pitch asked gently, almost sounding sorry for being a tattletale.  
“Fine.”  
His raven-haired owner tugged at Aster's leash before they made their way down the hall, the rabbit keeping a steady hop four feet away, reaching the bathroom where Jack was testing the water with his fingers.  
“Ready for bathtime, munchkin?” he asked cheerfully as he turned around. He then stopped the faucet and beckoned Aster over to unlatch his collar. The bathwater usually appeared as the opposite of its essence: frigid, stiff, and unwelcoming. This time, however, it emitted a pleasant lavender fragrance (which Jack was fully aware would make his pet sleepy) and more importantly, it was blanketed in a thick, frothy layer of suds. Jack grinned as Aster's green eyes widened at the bubble bath set up before him. However, Aster still whimpered in repulsion of the bathtub until Jack interrupted by offering him a treat if he complied.  
The rabbit nervously glanced back at the claw-footed porcelain tub, his eyes then darting between the expectant stares of both his owners. Whiny violin music played softly on the mini speakers on the wall.  
He had wanted a walk. Just a pleasant stroll around the apartment, merrily hopping beside Jack. But that was just too much, no, he needed a bloody goddamn bath. Jack placed the leash and collar on the side of the sink before lifting Aster off his feet and lowering him, kicking and scratching, into the tub. He instantly yelped at the impact of icy water against skin, and Jack and Pitch waited for him to grow accustomed to the temperature (which was indicated by Aster letting out a defeated huff and pouting with crossed arms) before they set to work. Pitch took a glass pitcher and filled it with a fraction of the bath's contents, spilling it down Aster's furry back. He squeaked softly, earning an amused smirk from the grey-skinned man.  
“There's a good boy,” he praised as he turned and dug a green washcloth out of the towel closet. He got it damp before handing it to Jack, almost ceremoniously. Frost found a shampoo bottle and squirted a dollop of some yellow gel onto the washcloth that smelled of strawberries, before scrubbing it onto Aster's cornflower blue fur, already matted from the water. He spread the shampoo on his back, shoulders, head, and especially on his tummy, which Jack knew tickled the other extensively. The rabbit arched his back forward at the touch, keeping his posture erect. He closed his eyelids, flaunting his angular body as he patiently waited for them to finish up so that they could get on to grooming and cuddles. Those were always exquisite.  
“Good boy!” Jack exclaimed, echoing Pitch's words as he lathered away at the arms. Aster had to admit to himself that he was loving the attention he was receiving from the both of them, but that didn't change the fact that the bath was freezing and his fur felt all soggy and he felt a sneeze coming on and Jack was blowing flurries of bubbles at his face. Aster attempted to put a stop to them, batting at them with his oversized paws. He was hanging on to his headspace by a thread. The only human sound he could manage to make that wasn't a curse word (which would earn him a bar of soap in his mouth, courtesy of Pitch) was a mewling “ugh,” one that Jack noticed, thank God.  
“We're almost done baby, you're doing such a good job,” he encouraged as he lifted Aster's left leg and swabbed away. He intentionally made the washcloth scrub against the dark blue pads of his feet, which made Aster squeal in discomfort and irritation.  
“Remember buttercup,” Pitch cheerfully chimed in as he folded the linens, “be a good pet for us, and you might get a treat later.”  
Suddenly, Jack threw his hands in the air in frustration.  
“Somethin’ wrong, sir?” Aster asked, breaking character for but a moment, but grabbing it again in time to remember to show his younger master reverence.  
“I forgot the conditioner,” Jack groaned. Pitch opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a bottle of something called—Aster squinted—Gentle Bliss. This bath was definitely not a gentle bliss.  
“Ya really should get those two-in-one bottles,” the rabbit grumbled to Jack, who was beginning to follow the shampoo's sudsy trail. “Saves my precious time.”  
“I know, I know,” the teen dismissed as he lathered the scruff of Aster's neck, pretending not to notice that his boyfriend had walked away from his headspace backwards with both middle fingers up. He was going to have to fix that, however, if bath time was going to be an enjoyable experience. Bunny was being such a well-behaved pet so far—he couldn't pussy out now (no pun intended).  
Pitch glanced over at the sound of what he considered was a nasally Australian accent and scowled. Pets couldn't talk. He quite enjoyed when Aster could only bashfully paw at either master's leg to gain their full attention. He took a makeshift cloth gag from the linens and threateningly snapped it in his hands, hoping that the pooka noticed.  
Aster could sense Pitch's glare. Fake it til you make it, the bunny thought to himself. He made his tail flick up when the washcloth came into contact with it, and Aster giggled in incomparable innocence. He welcomingly embraced the wide smile of adoration plastered upon Jack's angelic face.  
“Such a sweet little bunny,” he cheerfully praised as he tickled his chin, applying the finishing touches on covering the dripping body with bubbles. Pitch had drawn some clear water in the pitcher in the meantime, and poured it over Aster's body without warning. God, it was warm. It gave his skin goosebumps as he shivered a second time that day to grow accustomed to the sudden temperature change. Gentle Bliss indeed.  
“See, look how happy he is,” Pitch boasted to Jack. “I told you he needed more hot baths to relax his tensions.”  
“Cold baths increase alertness and keeps his hair nice and shiny for grooming,” Jack informed the man matter-of-factly as he kissed the top of Aster's head. Pitch rolled his golden eyes before draining the tub, lifting Aster into his arms, and drying him off with a fluffy yellow towel before he had the chance to shiver. He felt Pitch's adoration radiate on his skin—it wasn't like Jack's, which was vocal and bursting and colorful, but rather quiet and classy and was classified by the little things he did and the little looks he gave that reminded Aster just how good it felt to be a kitten...rabbit...pet. Maybe if he played at this game hard enough, he'd even squeeze some more praise out of him. He purred as Pitch finished scrubbing him off, caressing his buttocks to dry every last inch until his coat was soft and feathery again. He was starting to disregard his dislike for baths; both his owners knew what was best for him, and they loved him very much. He felt his collar get buckled back around his neck. Now Aster felt completed. He kept switching in and out of his headspace like a light switch all evening, and it was beginning to irritate him.  
“Let's head back to the living room for grooming,” Jack suggested, unwinding the leash after attaching it to Aster's collar. Either the lavender didn't work or it took several minutes for its effects to soak in, because Aster seemed to be a lot more awake than asleep, contently following his owners back down the hall.  
“Was I good?” he asked Jack shyly as he took a seat in front of the sofa. Aster was not allowed on the furniture without permission during playtime.  
“Yes, you were a very good bunny!” Jack confirmed as he searched for the comb in the side table. He still had some trouble navigating Pitch's apartment.  
“I feel like he was more of a pussycat today,” Pitch offered, gathering Aster into his lap and taking a seat.  
“I'll be whatever you want if I'm still gettin’ that treat,” the rabbit reminded both his boyfriends as Jack joined the others.  
“Even a puppy?” Frost appealed with fingers crossed. The teen was very much a dog person, and every so often he requested for Aster to try being his loyal, energetic puppy sometime, but to no avail, for Aster couldn't stand dogs and felt that he had zero connection to them whatsoever. The fact that the bunny had known Pitch longer might have brought on the catlike tendencies during playtime, since the man took quite an enjoyment in cats. But cats were boring, Jack thought to himself. They only slept around and hissed and got easily distracted by shiny things or swiftly moving objects.  
“No pooches,” Aster answered as Jack combed the wispy fur on his cheeks. “If you're so hooked on it, you can always be one.”  
“Or Pitch,” Jack teased with a grin. “I could be a proud owner of a grouchy rabbit-kitten hybrid and a snooty doggy.”  
“Hilarious,” Pitch responded with an eye roll as he checked under his pet's tail, which perked up, Aster dutifully knowing it was being looked over when Pitch gently lifted him up a bit by his prominent shoulder blades. Good kitty. It was still there, sparkling and heart-shaped and for once, not big enough for Jack to tell there was something fishy about Aster's movements. He had stuck it in him when the rabbit was complaining about how horny he was and how he wasn't allowed to have sex that night, and oddly, Aster didn't complain too much about it.  
“We have such a pretty pet,” Pitch cooed as he scratched him behind the ears affectionately, fully aware that Aster liquified at the touch and clenched around the plug. At this point he was sandwiched, his boyfriend on the left, almost-fiancée on the right, his fur just being stroked by the relentless hands of both people. They must have been completely enthralled by the texture. All Aster could do besides sit there awkwardly was lean into the younger's chest and purr contently.  
Oh. Jack was taking his hip now. Okay. That was fine. Better than fine. The teen pulled Aster closer to him and mumbled sweet nothings, which were probably (hopefully) having something to do with a formal apology for almost giving the rabbit hypothermia.  
Hand. Ass. Ass. Hand. The blended senses didn't let Aster make coherent thoughts. The spindly digits left invisible imprints on his fur as they felt over every inch of the surface, starting from below the tail and ending at the crease of his thighs. Aster was getting the slightest bit panicky. Jack had set up the chastity rule for the week in the first place. The pooka eyed Pitch as subtly as he could muster, but he was looking at his goddamn cellphone. Ugh, it was just like when they were dating the first time. Aster wasn't noticing at first that Jack was showering him with kisses. Was this supposed to be his treat? This was a sick joke of a treat. Jack had assured Aster that he'd be just fine; that it was only a week without sex and it wasn't that big of a deal. But Aster was mostly rabbit, for Christ's sake, the spirit of sexual endeavors. That's why the does that had the anatomy for it reproduced so extensively. And it was why mating season was upon the woodland creatures and the mutated versions of them and Aster was beginning to go into full withdrawal. Usually at this time of year he just satisfied himself by finding someone or something to fuck, but this week he forgot to inform Jack until the last minute (his job was one of his top priorities, so it often got the best of his concentration). And now he was far too late, what with Jack's hand's location and his shrinking dignity.  
Oh.  
The fingers lingered down the base of his tail. They drew closer, like a serial killer in a horror movie sneaking up behind a helpless victim.  
“UM, I, uh, I'd like you to do the dishes when we get home,” Aster stammered clumsily, halting the movement for but a moment.  
“Mmkay,” Frost whispered absentmindedly, continuing down the predestined trail with his freezing phalanges. Dammit. Aster could only cringe before the words even left Jack's mouth.  
“Er…why do you have a rhinestone up your—oh God, PITCH!”


	2. Petit Fours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO IM LATE AF

Aloe plants were a welcome change to Aster's garden bedroom. Usually it was mostly flowers as far as the eye could see, in every color the eye could want to receive. The hues were almost fluorescent in the afternoon sunlight that dared to peak out of the stained-glass window. Still, the rabbit very much enjoyed the aloe plant he went out and bought after he received his last paycheck. The angular leaves, the stiffness, all of its health necessities...it was absolutely chocked with possibilities.  
Aster took a step back and leaned against an empty space of the chipped chartreuse wall to admire his work. It was practically a jungle in his house. Sure, he had a few houseplants, wind chimes and paintings scattered in the other rooms, but their growth didn't hold a finger to this ten foot tall paradise. He wanted to eventually pull it all together with a mural, a panoramic one, but that would have taken a lot of time that he didn't have.  
A sharp knock on the door was followed by its prompt opening, and Jack emerged joyfully, two homemade lemon ice pops in hand. The teen noticed his boyfriend's thoughtful, contemplative gaze at his bedroom, and he almost wished he could empathize. But alas, Frost's room was chaotically messy, abandoned hobbies and dirty laundry cluttered throughout his room like battlefield positions, grunge music blasting mercilessly when he declined to wear his headphones. He could only wish to be as methodically immersed as Aster.  
“Afternoon, creampuff!” The teen greeted as he handed Aster a freezer pop and leaned against the wall with him. He only had to look up a little; the pooka's head wasn't awfully farther than his, it was only the ears that gave off the illusion.  
“Sure doesn't feel like afternoon,” Aster muttered in reply, having been up all night again sketching. That habit had a tendency to worry Jack, and probably contributed to how high-strung Aster had been getting. Well, more that usual.  
A muffled harmonic jingle played from under Aster's quilted comforter. The pooka reassumed movement by diving over and grabbing his cell phone before it rang twice, eighty percent positive he knew exactly who it was.  
“Hey Pitch,” Aster answered, being correct in his assumptions.  
“I'm inviting you and Jack to a party,” came his other boyfriend's sultry announcement, lingering voice barely grained by the phone line.  
“Ick,” Aster responded, making a repulsed face. “You know I've never taken a liking to those.”  
“This one is different, exclusive,” Pitch attempted in defense. “It's very elegant and sophisticated and it's all set inside a mansion.”  
“What're they even celebrating?”  
“For the last time, you don't need to be celebrating something to have a party.”  
“And you said both of us? Does Jack have to wear a tux or something?”  
“I'd wear a tux any day of the week,” Jack interjected. Aster shushed him before returning to his conversation.  
“Should I wear a dress? How late is it gonna be? Will there be chaperones? Will there be dancing? I don't wanna dance, Pitch—”  
“No, no, all night, no, no, and shut your trap, I'll provide all the details once I get them. All I know is that we have to wear beautiful masks.”  
“Define beautiful.”  
“Classy. Suave. Sexy. Oh, damn it, I almost spoiled the surprise…”  
“What surprise?”  
“That's for me to know and you to find out.”  
“Heheh, okay, sure, I'll buy it. But the party still sounds bloody stupid and we're not going. End of story. Au revoir.”  
“Why you little—”  
It was then that Aster hung up. Jack started to open his mouth, to begin his usual routine of endless chatting until Aster complained about a convenient headache. But before whatever Jack was going to say had made its appearance, his own cell rang. He swiftly picked it out of his corduroy pocket.  
“Hello?”  
“Would you and your beloved boyfriend like to go to a party?”  
“Absolutely!” came Jack's immediate reply. “When?”  
“Is that Pitch?” Aster hissed. “I told him NO, hang up right now!”  
Frost made a shushing gesture and returned to his phone call. The phone was only quiet enough so that Aster couldn't hear the enunciated voice on the other line, only the teen's.  
“What am I gonna be wearing? Can I wear a tux? ...Where am I gonna get masks? Ooh, it's that kind of party. I've always wanted to go to one of those! How am I gonna get him out of the house?”  
Aster raised an eyebrow. He'd sure like to see them try.  
“Hmm, well he does love carrot cake. Wait, there's FOOD? Agh, I can't wait! See you then!”  
The next half hour was spent by Jack reading a book about dinosaurs and Aster incoherently chittering about his double-crossing habits.

~•*~•*~•*

“Almost done!”  
“Christ, Jack, I'm not a birthday gift!”  
Jack gave his lover a good spray-down of body glitter before taking a step back to admire his masterpiece that he had painted countless times. The only thing that would've completed it was binding his ankles to his thighs and having his wrists twisted up and pointed towards the ceiling. Yes, the rabbit's half-form had its perks. It made Aster's body less bulky, which made sex less awkward—although both Jack as Aster occasionally enjoyed a session without bondage or shapeshifting, casual and not predestined.  
Aster loosened his collar a bit. He was a tad nervous. Jack had hinted to him that this kind of party was special, but what kind of party would require him to wear his body straps and lingerie, and Jack his leather jacket and latex pants? Aster was not as cultured as Pitch, and especially not as much as Jack. In fact, Aster through to himself, maybe Jack should be called butterfly instead, since he's the most social.  
The couple eventually heard a knock at the door, and Aster whipped his head around to face Pitch, who had already let himself into the apartment with the house key.  
“Well, you look good enough to eat,” Pitch mewled as his eyes dropped to Aster's yellow platforms, which clashed a bit with his pink stockings and generally made him look like a pastel rainbow all over.  
“You've seen me in this a million times,” Aster responded curtly, squinting his huge, round eyes. “Most recently last week.”  
“Still, it never gets old.” Pitch patted the top of his lover's head appreciatively. Aster found this slightly patronizing.  
“You're late,” Jack observed, blinking his raccoon-like eyes. The dark shadow was practically caked on his eyelids for dramatic effect, but given that Jack's slender form and bony structure was similar to Aster's current state, it wasn't very intimidating unless they were performing certain activities.  
“Fashionably,” Pitch nonchalantly replied, licking his scarlet lips. He, too, was dressed in his own sadistic attire. His torso was vacuumed into an obsidian corset, his nipples hidden with duct tape x's. His horselike legs were obscured in fishnet tights and what Aster admirably referred to as “stripper boots.” The only thing smothering the man's crotch were black lace panties, which originally were intended to coordinate with Aster's pink lace lingerie, back when it was only the two of them against the world.  
“The party still sounds stupid,” Aster muttered as he stared at his reflection in the entrance mirror and fluffed his face as a final touch-up.  
“You don't have to go if you don't want to,” Jack replied as he turned to his boyfriend. “I was already looking up dog tricks today, anyway.”  
A familiar glimmer of hope immediately left Aster's eyes. He groaned loudIy before letting his bones go limp, stalking over to get his leash and mask from the kitchen island. The mask he had bought was gorgeous, in his honest opinion. He had only a few hours to find one, and ironically, this was in the back of a party store. How this went past anyone's gaze, he could never understand. It was absolutely covered in large clusters of artificial flowers, so dramatic that some pieces almost completely threw themselves off the mask.  
Jack's was lovely too, albeit simplistic. It was structured more curvaceously than Aster's, painted dark grey like a storm cloud and covered in a modest layer of glitter. Frosted blue leaves were cluttered on the left side, accompanied by thin, dead branches. Jack tied it on over his unnecessary makeup.  
Pitch's mask almost scared the living shit out of Aster. It looked just like one of those birdlike masks people wore during the black plague, although this one's long beak probably wasn't filled with herbs and a medieval hat was fortunately not included. Still, it was all Aster could do not to whimper a bit. What kind of party was this? It couldn't have just been a masquerade ball, he had to wear all this shit that he only wore in his or Pitch's apartment. He really hoped no one he knew was there. Even with the mask, he was the only anthropomorphic rabbit in the universe. He would be very easy to spot. The only real clue Aster had about the event was one that he proposed in his own mind, that he was only going to be showed off as Pitch's submissive to (hopefully) complete strangers, and that there would be refreshments. Yes, Aster thought to himself again, please refresh my troubled existence as a lace-clad slave for this old, pretentious sex machine. And teenage motorcyclist.  
Aster reluctantly handed Pitch the leash.  
“That won't be necessary,” Pitch shooed the object away as he lifted Aster into his arms, until the rabbit was hanging onto his boyfriend like a koala.  
“There's a car waiting outside. Don't be taken off guard if they cover our heads with sacks.”  
And cover their heads with sacks, they did. Aster felt like he was being kidnapped, when for once he did nothing wrong. Pitch informed the both of them that it was to make sure they didn't know the way there, which filled Aster with mindless questions, and they came spilling out of his mouth like vomit.  
“What kind of party are we going to?”  
“Something you've never heard of,” came Pitch's confident reply.  
“How would you know?”  
“Oh trust me darling, I definitely know.” The man then released an exasperated sigh inside the burlap. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, just pretend that it's your party. You invited the guests, you set everything up, et cetera. Then you'll seem at least a little confident as we're tugging your leash.”  
“Whatever,” Aster mumbled, crossing his arms and leaning against Jack, who had taken the middle seat. The rest of the car ride was silent, save the muffled jingling of Aster's collar at every speed bump.  
Finally, the sacks were withdrawn from their heads, and the trio arrived at the mansion, which was, to say the very least, gargantuan. Windows twinkled in the pale moonlight, and marble pillars towered over Aster's scrawny form. He already felt like he was being examined.  
Pitch's brass knock thundered against the wood, emitting a “what's the password” from the other side. The bunny struggled not to snicker at the only no-girls-allowed-password-only treehouse club that wasn't set in a treehouse. He could barely make out Pitch whispering a long, Latin-sounding phrase before the door opened just wide enough for the three men to slither through.  
The interior of the mansion was not unlike anything Aster had expected of it. The ceilings were high, there were a number of staircases, the carpet made feeble attempts to snag against his heels as his leash was clipped onto his collar for the upteenth time before he began his commute a respectable distance behind Pitch and chatterbox Jack, and the sparkling chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. Yep, this place was most likely run by a total dick. The only thing that Aster didn't foresee was the fact that people were rigorously fucking each other in the open without a single care in the world. No wonder the party required masks—Aster's face was already flushed at the sight.  
“Don't be a gawker, pet,” Pitch scolded lightly as he looked about the place, as if he was looking for something or someone. “Remember that you own this place, that this party is yours.”  
“Excuse me?” Aster scoffed. “You really think I have the ability to visualize myself being so perverted as to wanna invite people over just to shag each other?”  
“It's what I'm doing!” Jack chimed in unnecessarily.  
“Now,” Pitch began, ignoring Jack as usual, “I'm going to introduce you to some of my dear friends who invited me to this event. So fix your posture, don't forget to curtsy like we practiced, and for the love of God do NOT speak unless you are spoken to.”  
Aster nodded passively, keeping his posture erect as he followed Pitch's gaze towards a group of people in long black cloaks. They quickly approached them, the rabbit almost tripping on his platforms but recomposing himself in time to make a good first impression. He didn't bother to see how Jack was doing—somehow he sensed that this was only about him and Pitch.  
“Good evening, sirs,” Pitch greeted with a flourish. Aster clung to Pitch's leg like a child, weary of the glowing gold sheen in the eyes of the group's elaborate masks. They muttered their “good evening" in return, in perfect unison.  
“This little treasure is my pet, Aster,” the man continued, shaking his leg out of Aster's clutches and glaring at him until he dipped his body into what in his opinion was a very impressive curtsy. These people were a cult, if they were even people at all. All their masks were onyx, and had odd swirling effects that seemed to almost hypnotize Aster, and if every guard in his mind wasn't on lock, it just might have. He was lost in his thoughts before he realized he was being thoroughly analyzed by the group. They had already made their way over to him, tugging and exploring all the uncovered and purposefully covered parts of his body.  
“He is quite possibly the most lovable pet we have ever seen,” one murmured in a raspy voice as it ran its clammy hand along Aster's jawline. “Just look at how his fur sparkles.”  
“He would be just perfect for breeding purposes,” another chimed in as it pulled on Aster's twitching ear. The other four muttered their agreement.  
Of course these were the people Pitch spent his time with.  
“Uh, Aster's not a lady,” Aster heard Jack's voice join in from his right side. “He wouldn't be particularly useful for your um…breeding system.”  
The five things halted their actions to glare up at the boy.  
“We have our ways,” one of them hissed.  
Jack stiffened before yanking Aster's leash out of Pitch's grasp.  
“Well, we'd love to stay and chat, but Aster mustn't miss his suppertime,” Jack announced with all the formality he could muster.  
“Please,” Pitch begged coldly, “leave by all means necessary.”  
The bunny's mind was manic, only able to manage a soft “as you wish, Master” before being promptly pulled away from the scene.  
“What was that for?” Aster demanded, finding himself embarrassed as he straightened his mask.  
“I'm sorry, did you not notice how creepy they were? You looked like you were being judged at a dog show, the way one of them pried your mouth open like that!”  
“You would've liked that, wouldn't you?” Aster teased. “But even if they were a bit nightmarish, I was being showed off like a prize for a reason.”  
“Too late now,” Jack chirped with a shrug. “But if you get such a boner from being bored out of your skull, we could just sit down and wait it out.”  
So the couple did just that, or at least attempted to. Jack sat with all his masculine energy in a broad red chair, and Aster sat on the floor beneath his owner's legs like a good pet would. Most of that time was spent by guests stopping by and commenting on how precious Aster was, followed by Jack's routinely response, which was either some variation of “yep, he's our little angel” or “thanks, he's quite the handful.” Things were going okay, Aster thought to himself. He craved the attention. The atmosphere was pleasing to the eyes. And best of all, Pitch was constantly in view as the man communicated with other practicers of the masochistic craft. The rabbit always smirked smugly if they ever made eye contact. It was around the fourth time that he did that Aster nuzzled against Jack's leg and purred affectionately. Frost responded by leaning down and gently massaging the top of his head.  
“You're behaving pretty well, princess,” the teen observed. “You looking to earn a treat?”  
“I'm not in my headspace, Jack,” Aster remarked bluntly. “The most I can do right now is people-watch.”  
Jack sat back in the chair, taking in the view.  
“Hm. Well, you can always run along and play with the other subs if you want to, I don't mind.”  
“Nah, I'm stayin' with you. Besides, there are far too many fascinating things I'm takin' in already.”  
Aster's eyes seemed to shoot daggers at the sight of Pitch talking to a person who wasn't wearing a mask, but horse accessories on their face and body, for some reason.  
“I still think we have a good excuse for food,” Jack argued playfully as he marched toward the buffet, almost dragging Aster along with him. He almost had to run to keep up with his boyfriend, who immediately grabbed two plates and began filling them up with assorted desserts. Aster realized that a lot of the pastries were ones he had made in the bakery, and promptly pulled his paw down his face in self-pity. He had provided food for these parasites.  
After Jack collected a huge pile of food on both of their plates, they headed down a narrow hallway in search of an unoccupied room. Consequently, the only spot was a tiny bathroom near the back of the house. Fortunately, everything was clean enough to rest upon, so Aster assumed his eating spot in a shower, Frost on a closed toilet.  
They ate and talked for fifty-eight minutes. The door's lock was broken, so any intruder immediately got an “occupied” from Jack and a “piss off” from Aster. That was why Pitch was bombarded with both before he even poked his head inside.  
“I thought you two would be in here,” he spoke with a slight creak in his voice, as though he had been talking nonstop this whole time (which he probably had been). He stared down at Aster, the mask's beak protruding to the point of objectifying the pooka, which Pitch was no doubt intending.  
“How's my sweet boy?” he cooed as he dipped his finger in Aster's half-finished creme brûlée.  
“Kiss my ass, birdbrain.” Aster haughtily replied. “We're going home.”


	3. Sugar Cubes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are writing deadlines lol

Jack always considered himself to be a sensible person. After all, his relationship with Aster was different than Pitch's, and for several reasons, one of them being that theirs was the only one that permitted sex. And other than that, he considered himself more sensitive than Pitch. Who cuddled with a terrified Aster during the thunderstorms? Who ironed his weird maid uniform that was required for his poorly-paying job? Who generally comforted him when he generally baked up a batch of frownies? Pitch was okay, Jack supposed, but around the man it seemed as though Aster's only concern was to be quiet and obedient. This was especially proven at that party the other night. Was Aster only dragged there for Pitch to show off just how well-behaved he was? Was he just conditioned to act this way, to be showcased? And…BREEDING PURPOSES? Did that not sound extremely discomforting to either of them? Nevertheless, Jack had respected Aster's decision to be with the both of them. After all, as strange as it may have seemed, Aster called the shots in relationships—well, at least with Jack's. The pooka was not one to get bossed around and walked over, and he repeatedly proved this by scolding Jack about his petty purchases (“but maracas ARE a good investment, you're just not cultured enough to possibly understand my passion!”), being the best at winning arguments, and being the sole owner of the apartment, goddammit. If that wasn't enough reason for Aster to qualify as Most Entitled Fiancée in the Zip Code, Jack didn't know what was. These were the thoughts that fluttered through Jack's mind like butterflies when he made the mistake of visiting his boyfriend in Pitch's living room that afternoon. The sight before him was beyond anything he could have conjured in his wildest imaginations, and that was certainly saying something.  
But Pitch Black was decked from head to toe in horse equipment.  
In addition to a bridle sort of thing around his mouth, he wore blinders on either side of his head. He was also dressed these weird-looking boots that had shiny, polished hooves supporting them, similar to his gloves (which, as Jack thought more about it, didn't really function as gloves). Shimmering leather straps crisscrossed all up his torso, similar to the arrangement of Aster's body straps, although Aster was in actuality wearing his work uniform. He must have wasted no time on getting his boyfriend to this state. And—oh Christ on a bike, there was a long black tail akin to a stallion's poking shamelessly out of the man's derierre.  
”Hello, Jack,” Aster greeted blissfully. “So glad you could join me and my pretty new pony. He's been very excited to meet you.”  
Jack's blue eyes widened beyond the point of human perception. But the rabbit continued.  
“Shall I call him Poundcake? Or Candy Hooves, perhaps?” he suggested as he gave his older lover a kiss on the shoulder (one of the few places on his body that wasn't bound in straps).  
Jack was stiff all over. His pale lips struggled to form words as the tall pooka lovingly began brushing the artificial tail. At first the teen could only make incoherent sounds, which made Aster look more expectant of a response.  
“W-What gave you any reason to do this without at least confiding in him?” he finally stammered.  
“Think about it, Jack,” the bunny responded immediately, almost as if he had been practicing his moment of victorious, vicious vengeance. “When we're doin' playtime I'm just a poor, defenseless kitten rabbit thing. But Bubblegum Twinklestar here, he's a strong pony who's only lookin' for some companionship. I do hope he's not a drooler. Anyway, I think he owes me a favor for forcin' me ta go to that stupid party, don't you boy?”  
Aster tightly squeezed his arms around the silent pony man for what seemed like the millionth time.  
“Well, it looks like the tables have definitely turned here,” Frost tried to conclude. It wasn't really his place to do anything about it, and it didn't seem like Pitch hated it too much, almost like he had seen it coming from a mile away. Still, his eyebrows (or lack thereof) had descended to an impossible position over his eyes, so he might have just been playing along to get it overwith quicker.  
“Oh, the tables have turned alright, Jackie,” Aster giddily replied, practically trembling in manic satisfaction. “It almost feels better to be the owner than the pet—I mean, I can see the appeal. I'm sure I'm just delightful when I'm in pet mode.”  
“You're actually a bratty whiner who makes a horrible mess of my apartment,” Pitch countered pompously as he straightened his posture.  
“PONIES DON'T TALK!” Aster eagerly shouted back, wide grin signifying again that he had evidently been practicing that line after years of having the similarities thrown at him by the same person.  
Jack sighed.  
“This shit's making you so horny,” he remarked scoldingly.  
“Is it? I didn't notice, see I was far too busy attending to my handsome boy to have any form of arousal for the situation whatsoe—”  
“You're blushing underneath all that fur.”  
“I have no idea what you're talking about. Now if you'll excuse us, we're gonna have to skedaddle. It's time for Apricot Blossom's trotting practice.”  
“Is it too late to bring up the time Pitch called you Mister Schnufflekins the last time you were in your half-form?” Jack suggested smugly.  
Aster's thick eyebrows furrowed as Jack seemed to take the words right out of Pitch's bridled mouth.  
“I think somebody wants to join in on the fun,” the rabbit purred, his tone morphing into something silky and tempestuous. “Isn't fun your shtick, Snowflake? I'm sure Honeydew Gingersnap would love another trainer on hand. Or hoof.”  
“Oh, I think I'll pass this time around,” Jack said slowly, plastering on a phony grin. “You see, I don't have anything against Pitch, for once. I actually had a nice time at whatever that shindig was. Plus, at this point I think you're just getting derogatory nicknames from that blackboard you decorate at the pastry shop. So who's the real winner, jellybean?”  
Jack thought he heard Pitch start to snicker, but it quickly morphed into a soft whicker as Aster shot him a warning glare and casually drew a pink riding crop from behind him.  
“Well, Sparklenose Custard and I are very busy, so if you're uncomfortable with all this you had best be on your way.”  
And Jack did leave, surprisingly. Score one for Aster. He was always the real winner; Jack didn't know what he was talking about.  
“You're a spoiled little brat,” Pitch muttered as the pooka fussed over the equipment.  
“I know,” he chirped back cheerfully. “But after I saw you talkin' to that horse person at the party…well, I couldn't help but feel a bit inspired.”  
“Inspired” was the most sugar-coated word Aster could speak, given the context. In reality he was absolutely positive that Pitch was going to be just as inspired to make a pony of his very own, so Aster decided to beat him to the punch, let him know just how it feels to be so…displayed. Especially since, knowing Pitch, the accessories that Aster had bought were much too plain and basic. The ensemble Pitch would have picked for Aster would be flamboyant and shameless, practically screaming “LOOK AT THIS PONY FREAK, PITCH'S EASILY DISPOSABLE PRIZE! HE IS INFINITELY GRATEFUL FOR THE MERCIES THAT HE COULD NEVER HOPE TO DESERVE!” The one the man was wearing, however, seemed to whisper softly “Aster got this in clearance with a thirty dollar gift card that Pitch gave him last Christmas. Whoop-dee-fuckedy-doo.”  
“Y'know,” Aster began slowly as he absentmindedly fiddled with the man's boots, “I knew what you were gonna do to me. I mean, I had to use your account to activate that gift card, and well, I just happened to catch a glimpse at that wishlist of yours.”  
It was all the pooka could do not to shudder at the thought; he wanted to drown his eyeballs in bleach. Still, he continued his monologue.  
“I was a bit tempted to buy it for you, flip your intentions. Those big pink feather plumes, the glittery rhinestones, oh it was gorgeous. Perfect to stuff your innocent rabbit boyfriend in, perhaps.”  
No argument. Aster had been correct in his assumptions. Score two.  
“But it was six hundred dollars, unfortunately, so I had to settle with this old thing. Turns out being employee of the month for the seventh consecutive time in a row doesn't exactly win you a promotion at a maid pastry shop. Pity.”  
“Are you done?” came the pony's sharp reply. This took Aster aback for a moment. He was never exactly secure being in the controlling position, sex or fetish-wise. Although with everything else, he took to power positions like ducks took to water.  
“I-I beg your pardon, uh, Strawberry Bonbon?” he stammered, stumbling over words as Pitch brought his parade to a halt.  
“It's more than just talking and nicknames, Aster,” he spat. “You keep on yapping about how much I'm apparently belittled, even though I have been on both sides of the equation and I can most certainly assure you that this doesn't hold a finger to how low I've gotten into this mess. Before you were even in the picture.”  
It was now Aster's turn to be silent. Pitch was only nineteen years old when he had met him.  
“I know how to do this so much better than you, buttercup. And I had everything all planned out. Now that's the real pity, not getting to work on you.”  
The sides of Aster's mouth curled into a Cheshire Cat-like grin, leaning closer to Pitch and letting his work uniform rustle as he moved.  
“How were you gonna treat your own pony, then? Maybe I could use some…pointers.”  
Pitch pretended to ignore the flirtatious attempts, keeping a serious demeanor.  
“You were going to supposedly be a show horse. That's where all the glitzy things came in. I wasn't going to show you to anyone except Jack, so I might as well have done it with style.”  
“What was my name gonna be?”  
“Buttercup, probably. If it's not broke, don't fix it. And your costume got more pricy with size, so you would've had to have been in your half-form for it to fit. Consequently, you would've been something of a filly. A spritely one who desperately wished to please his master.”  
“Hm, not far from the truth.” Aster decided to ignore that filly meant female.  
“See? Your scenes need more depth. You might want to leave it to the professionals.”  
“Like you?” Aster asked rhetorically.  
“Exactly.”  
There was a beat of silence before the two slammed into a passionate kiss. It was sweet for but a moment, as Aster ran his fingers down Pitch's back and pulled him closer, full of lust and want and desire and other redundancies. That is, until a latex hoof-hand made an odd squeaking noise against his body, and he cringed a bit, promptly pulling the anti-gloves off his boyfriend and staring into his piercing eyes.  
“Pity that we gotta stop here,” Aster muttered. “I was hoping to give you commands and stuff.” He let out a light, airy laugh. “And it was gonna be so easy, considering how bloody stupid you look.”  
“You're certainly one to talk,” Pitch scoffed back.  
“You see me in this four times a week, lunatic,” Aster rolled his eyes as he straightened his headpiece.  
“You might as well tell me what to do, as long as I'm in this getup.”  
Aster's mind instantly went blank, before words spilled from his lips like vomit; without control, without logic, and with a bitter taste at the mere thought of it.  
“Maintenant, baiser la cervelle,” he mewled, remembering how much Pitch loved the French language, despite his English accent. The grey man held in another snicker, as it roughly translated to “fuck my brains out.”  
“That's what you call a command?” came his own reply. “And to think I've waited a whole five months to hear that one.”  
Aster chuckled louder than he had intended, dizzy and lovestruck already. In that moment he couldn't have given two shits about some unspoken pact. He called the shots. He was in charge. Score three for Aster. Or was it four? Oh, had he lost count already? It didn't matter—he had won centuries ago.


	4. Pain au Chocolat—Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's important to note that the setting of this chapter takes place at the end of Aster's first relationship with Pitch, before Jack was even in the picture. It's essentially a flashback chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello this took a long time bc I thought I had accidentally deleted my final draft so I attempted to rewrite it but then I somehow found my final draft so here's the final draft.

Looks weren't ever Aster's first priority in life. Ever. Not even once. His diet was composed of humble pie, and his precious heart was bestowed on not only his sleeves, but the collar and generous skirt of his reigning distinguishability.  
Oh fuck it, Aster knew he was gorgeous.   
Pookas were never easy to come by, so conclusively Pitch should have reminded himself constantly just how lucky he was to have such a breathtaking creature in his possession. He failed tremendously at this as their relationship began to wear thin. The period of Aster's life that featured leashes, laser pens, and (ugh) fetching scented furnishing magazines and regally presenting them to his generous master was all too potent. Aster was just tickled to serve Pitch at first, but that was only for fetish purposes on both parties. The problem was that Pitch's party became overly satisfied with the idea of having an Aster around the house, to steamroll someone so independent into submission. Aster slowly began catching wind of this, and he obviously did not like it. He started indicating his aggravation by clenching his fists a little too hard, which evolved into gritting his teeth a little too roughly, which evolved into backtalk which consequently ended up in Aster spitting soap out of his mouth and Pitch retreating back into his shell of apathy and ignorance. Aster was beginning to lose count of how many times this had happened to him.  
But this was going to change everything.  
Aster had been working on a human form for quite some time now. Something not too lanky and not too buff, something feminine and masculine and, most importantly, flexible. He wanted to be intimidating, to be someone that would make Pitch weak in the knees at his beauty. He took note over the span of a few weeks of the men Pitch stared at when he thought Aster wasn't noticing, the ones that made his eyebrows (or lack thereof) ascend and his prominent chin descend onto the back of his hand. Put together, they all had distinctive characteristics that Aster did his best to replicate with his shapeshifting skills.  
He looked revolting.  
The former rabbit's skin was a soft bronze that seemed to glitter a bit on his shoulders and eyelids. His lips were thin and red as blood, and his nose was pointed and contoured perfectly between his large green eyes. His hair was tinted with cornflower blue, and it fell down to his mid-back, bouncy and shimmery and nearly impossible to pull into a bun. Aster had pulled out a rubber band and attempted to pin it into place, but he had very little experience with hair of any sort. Fur, however, was a different story.  
His chin looked a bit wonky and disheveled, as if he had gotten into a fight club and his jaw got dislocated a bit too far to the right, never being the same again. Still, stubble was slathered from the chin to below the lip and above it.  
Aster attempted to forcefully smile like a beauty queen, his slightly oversized incisors stealing the show from his white racerback undershirt and a pair of onyx denims he had swiped from Pitch's wardrobe. There was no place for his customary lacy black lingerie here. Who was this man? Not Pitch's, that's who. This man boasted the dark tattoos splayed along his arms, legs, back and forehead. They were his unsung battle cry to anyone who dared to cross him, the artistic representation of his repressed arrogance. Repressed until now.  
He heard the apartment door unlocking all the way from his bedroom. Aster gave his hair a final fluff, blowing a kiss at the mirror in attempted confidence.  
“Welcome home, Master!” he called out in his sweetest voice, unable to be seen behind his closed door. He opened it a crack to see his lover dump himself on the living room sofa, exhausted. Aster exhaled with pursed lips. Showtime.  
The tall Australian silently tiptoed down the hallway, turning left and letting himself crouch instinctually on the carpet, waiting for Pitch to notice him. He would have been wagging his tail had he not made it vanish earlier.  
“There you are, you mischievous little thing,” came the rippling poetry of Pitch's perfect voice. He only briefly glanced at Aster after saying this, before letting out a long, drawn out sigh.  
“What kind of trouble did you get yourself into this time, pet?”  
Aster clammed up immediately and proceeded to stammer. He had a whole monologue, and it completely fluttered away when his mind went blank.  
“Oh, uh, just messed around with some potions is all. I think I'll get back to normal in a jiff if I give it a splash of lemon powd—”  
“Ah ah ah, it wasn't my intention to swap recipes with you, darling.” The grey man's eyes flicked skyward, finding his parter's apparent naïveté rather endearing. “What I'm more interested in is why you think you have to wear clothes when you look like that. Such a shame that you have to be so modest all the time, especially now that you look like this.”  
Aster was silent, absentmindedly blinking as he idly attempted to gather his thoughts. Pitch couldn't just dress and undress him as he pleased; he wasn't a bloody Barbie doll.  
“Go on, strip.”  
Or maybe he was. The causality of the enunciation melted Aster to the core. It was why he stuck around when Pitch read his creative writing aloud in college, to let those syllables wash over him like a hot shower.  
“We must take advantage of your…unfortunate situation,” the man rambled as Aster removed his dark jeans and white singlet. “For you are not nearly as monstrous as you may think that you are. In a word, you look spectacular. And something so spectacular practically begs to be touched everywhere.”  
When Aster was fully exposed, Pitch nodded with approval.  
“Now that's more like it. Come, sit on my lap so I can get a good look at you. I'll take it from there.”  
Aster did as he was told, awkwardly taking a seat in his generous lap but slowly growing accustomed to it. He straightened his back like the prized possession he was, returning a fraction of the kisses being scattered onto his neck and chest. He struggled to keep up with Pitch's path of sensuality before he reached especially sensitive areas. Aster, however, was the only one of the pair who received fingers running down his just slightly toned torso, as well as the only one whose long hair was getting gently and repeatedly tugged at, the loose ringlets bouncing back into place like couch springs once they were released. The human closed his piercing green eyes, his lashes lightly fluttering shut like butterfly wings as he did so. He was more than delighted to be effortlessly pleasuring his dearest master. It was pleasant seeing him like this, almost vulnerable to Aster's apparent beauty. He decided to tease the pale man a bit, softly brushing his scarlet lips against his dark grey ones. Aster had detailed and chiseled his human form into Pitch's ideal sex toy, and he was completely aware of it, despite how disgusting it felt to be so absent of fur and so abundant in fingers. Still, his boyfriend didn't particularly enjoy the teasing, clutching the hair into a makeshift ponytail with his free hand and yanking it back towards him so that their lips would become more acquainted with one another. Tears stung Aster's eyes in the sharp pain as he tucked a few strands behind his ear. Pitch always made Aster out to be the weak, pathetic one, but here was his lover, bucking his hips and subconsciously demanding to be inside him, to be ignited. It was precious.  
Aster straddled his bent legs around Pitch's, tracing his forest green-tinted fingernail down the ribcage set before him. Pitch could handle himself so well when Aster was normal or, more often, in his half form. But this, this was a spectacle. For once, he was speechless. For once, he had detectable emotions. For once, Aster was in the lead, in control, and he could do whatever the hell he wanted.  
Better play it innocent.  
“Is there somethin' you need, Master? You seem a bit…oh, I don't know, inconvenienced?”  
“Oh, go fuck yourself.”  
“What's that, Pitchy?” It was all Aster could do not to grin. “You'd like to see me touch myself, to stick things up my body you wish you were the size of? To absolutely liquify at my own hands? For my pretty human face to get blasted with my own human seed?”  
It would have been an honor just to finally see the man look tortured, look deprived. To have a sense of both fear and wonderment, where for one moment Aster wouldn't technically be considered Pitch's property. He taunted further by making agonizing, decadent moans of pleasure as he slowly ground his body against the man's leg.  
“No no, I must be inside you immediately,” Pitch interrupted, halting Aster in his romping tracks. “Nothing else.”  
Damn it. One could only hope. The left hand raked through the hair atop his head, taking in the glossy texture and the expression of pure patience and innocence that adorned Aster's face as his own fingers began to daintily unzip the trousers. Quickly, he felt a veiny hand swat his own away in retaliation, desperate for control.  
“Down,” Pitch commanded as he shoved Aster to the ground, acting as though nothing had changed. Pitch's head was in his hands, overwhelmed. Aster sat up, making sure that his eyes pierced through whatever was left of Pitch's soul when he opened his own eyes. And pierced it was, as the man almost inaudibly instructed his little sex kitten to fetch him the lube. Once the task was accomplished, Aster was picked up to where he was keeping watch over Pitch's shoulder as he was carried to the kitchen. His lean body was then rested gently on the black quartz-topped island. His legs were then pulled over and slung onto Pitch's shoulders like a burden. His hole was prepared quickly, fingers leaving as soon as they entered. Aster bit his bottom lip harder than he should have, struggling not to let his moans get embarrassingly loud.  
The eventual impact was indescribable. Aster's horrendous human body rocked up and down against the kitchen island, pump after pump turning him louder and louder. Aster hated being a screamer, especially given the fact that it contrasted sharply with Pitch's general lack of feeling despite how pleasured he actually was.  
“You're doing so well, Aster,” the man spoke coolly. “Sucking me in all nice and tight.”  
He might as well have been filing his nails as he watched Aster arch his back to nearly impossible proportions. The older man was acting as though sex was as uneventful as brushing his teeth. But at his core, he had never been more satisfied. Being inside something so beautiful seemed to declare ownership to him. Aster was already his, but this new version of him was a mystery: it was more seductive, it got away with teasing him, and it was completely self-aware.  
Pitch pumped again, thoughts keeping him adrenalized and distracting him from Aster's repeated screaming and disgusting dares. It was only when Pitch orgasmed that Aster was dead silent, his eyes dilating as he drew in a shaky gasp. His lover grinned at the sight, teeth as sharp as a Cheshire Cat, especially as Aster's own release soon followed, drizzling onto his torso as he let his body go limp.  
Pitch gave his partner's thigh a couple grateful pats before heading off to prepare for his “beauty sleep.” Aster hesitated before cautiously following. He snuck into the bedroom just before the door closed, almost positive that Pitch would not kick out a stark naked man in permanent lipstick and adequate posture. Once again, he earned only a glance and an eye roll from him, which sloppily translated to “if you don't get on my bed this instant I will murder you.”  
Aster took his customary position at the foot of Pitch's bed, curling up against himself against the sweeping breeze of the ceiling fan and closing his eyes.  
“No no,” came the voice again, “sleep next to me, Aster. You've earned it tonight.”  
Aster eagerly obeyed as Pitch pulled the covers over himself and scooped his boyfriend into his arms. Aster felt his neck getting sharply sucked by another's mouth, and he bit his lip again, breathing heavily through his nose until the hickey had been fully planted on him. It was obviously easier to see now that he had taken on a human form. Now that Pitch was treating him like the treasure he knew he was.  
Pitch began to snooze several minutes after the initial hickey, leaving Aster tense and frozen and wide awake. Being touched like this meant everything to him, feeling like a god worthy of all the respect he gave his master day after day. Only one thing would've made it all perfect.  
Aster transformed into his full pooka form in Pitch's sleeping arms, and let his muscles relax, his eyelids included. This was how it was supposed to be. Good relationships were not like this. He had tried to defend himself, but every goddamn time had failed tremendously.  
They were gonna go out for brunch the next day. Aster was going to break up with him then. He was going to keep it short and sweet, much like the Belgian waffles he was going to dive into headfirst. He would not bear his human form, despite Pitch's probable protests, nor his half-form, despite Pitch's definite protests. He was going to be six-foot-one with nerves of steel. He was going to be unbreakable and unafraid, for once in his miserable life. He wanted to see Pitch look crushed, and for him to realize what he had been missing out on the whole time: Aster, the fearless (albeit emotional) pooka who took zero shit from anybody who dared to treat him like an idiot or some kind of an animal. He would never lose control of himself due to overwhelming lust, ever again. He was going to change his dependency to himself, and never, ever talk to that fucker again.


	5. Pain au Chocolat—Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no this is starting to unintentionally lead into something resembling a plot  
> also this chapter, unlike its predecessor, is not a flashback

“I'm going to CASTRATE you.”  
Aster's empty threats were not received, and Jack sped further down Rainbow Road, his Dry Bones emitting victorious noises through the speakers. Princess Peach yelped as Aster made desperate attempts to detour away from the blue shell's deadly path.  
“Who would've thought that I'd actually be faster than a rabbit, huh?” Jack teased as his character inched closer to the finish line on the final lap. “Then again, I could always let you win—”  
“You will do no such thing,” Aster interrupted as his spine crouched forward further than it already was, his eyes intent on the large television screen. Aster initially tried to own very few electronics, not finding much use for them as he was an old-fashioned rabbit. But when Jack moved in with him, he introduced his boyfriend to all of his high-tech “junk,” which included a vast selection of all the most popular games that Aster missed out on from being “cooped up.”  
“I win again!” Jack exclaimed, the rattling noise of Dry Bones agreeing with him. Peach had practically been dumped a hundred virtual feet away, struggling not to slip off the surface as Aster himself struggled to at least make second, wait—ugh, eleventh place. Wonderful.  
“I can't believe I finally found something I can beat the great Aster Bunnymund in,” Jack mused, propping his chin on a cranky Aster's shoulder as he inhaled the pooka's scent in an almost animalistic manner.  
“You smell yummy tonight, pookie,” the teen observed, trying out Aster's new nickname for the thirteenth time that day. “Did you get a new lotion for your fur?” he prodded. “Maybe we can use some of it for your next bathtime!”  
Aster rolled his green doe eyes and made halfhearted attempts to shoo Jack away.  
“I didn't do anything different, Jack. But nice try at the small talk after you tossed that blue shell back. Real classy of you, I must say.”  
“No no,” Jack dismissed. “You smell almost completely different. Like usually you smell like daffodils and carnations because of your hobbies and shampoo, but now…” he buried a portion of his face in Aster's fur for further confirmation and emphasis. “Your fur smells like those lemon drop candies, y'know?”  
Aster's thoughts regained shape, and an eyebrow ascended in curiosity.  
“Excuse me?” his words rushed like an ambulance, lack of breath enough for one to consider calling paramedics.  
“What's the matter, pook—”  
“Did you just say lemon?”  
“Wh–Yes, but—”  
Aster had bolted to the bathroom before Jack could finish his confirmation.  
The minimal lights were hazy in Aster's wake of probable destruction as he struggled for his knees to not give in, finding himself growing weaker. He wasn't in pain, thankfully, but something was controlling him, compelling him, and it was a force to most certainly be reckoned with. Aster moaned as a shiver of a sudden chill passed through his body as he made attempts to adapt to his evolution with grace. He must face him. That dreaded reflection that he hadn't seen in nearly a year. He took a deep breath of bravery before hoisting himself back up to stare back at his human form.  
Nothing had changed. The nose was sculpted, the cheekbones sharply trimmed, the stubble even and the hair just as long and bouncy as the first time. Lemons were a key ingredient in a homemade potion for giving pookas human forms, so Aster's assumptions were correct.  
His rabbit ears and tail, on the other hand, remained the same as before, further convincing him that this was not his own doing. And it couldn't have been Jack's—hell, as far as he knew Jack wasn't even aware of the human form. But Pitch was well aware. More aware than what is considered necessarily healthy.  
Aster opened his mouth, but no sounds were emitted, as if he was an antique phonograph that had years ago ceased to play. A knock at the white door of the bathroom made Aster jump, his dark emerald dress rustling against the knees of his shaven legs as he spun around, taking on a defense tai chi-like stance. He must now be on guard at all times; Pitch was now after the human form with a vengeance, no doubt to sexually mate with him once again.  
“Aster? You okay in there?” Jack called out from the other side.  
“Just…um...just peachy, darling!” Aster replied as he clawed at the permanent marking that remained on his forehead, questioning how legitimate his transformation really was. “When you said lemon, it um…it reminded me of the color yellow, which reminded me of piss, which made me wanna take a piss. Silly me!”  
There was a long pause from the other end.  
“Well, can I grab my dental floss real quick?” Jack asked. “I've got a dentist appointment tomorrow and I know Tooth is gonna have kittens if she finds out I've been slacking…”  
“Oh, absolutely, just let me…hide behind the shower curtain.”  
“We're all friends here, Bunny.”  
“Yeah, but—”  
“Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee,” Jack sang, regarding a sarcastic melody from Grease. “Lousy with virgin-i-ty!”  
Aster struggled to mask his giggles as he looked for an inconspicuous hiding spot in the tiny washroom. He was just as modest as he was the last time he was in his human form. Only this time, he wasn't eager to show the form to Jack in the slightest. With Pitch it had been a test, a last resort. This…well, Aster didn't know where this came from, nor how to change himself back (he had tried and obviously failed).  
“Won't go to bed 'til I'm legally wed—I can't, I'm Sandra Dee!” Jack continue his off-key onslaught, making little to no effort to sound the slightest bit like Betty Rizzo. Suddenly, without warning, the teen swung open the door. He needed the floss, and he needed it now.  
Aster searched Jack's expression for feelings, emotions, as even being turned on at the sight of the man before him would have been a good indication that Jack was fully conscious of the sight of his boyfriend as a human (for the most part).  
“Ya makin' fun of me, Rizz?” he found himself quoting, finishing Jack's song for him.  
He had to wait just another moment for a laugh to spill from Frost's lips.  
“Look at you!” he exclaimed, finding words, thank gods. Aster felt Jack tug gently on one of his loose ringlets, taking in the texture, probably. He felt Jack's eyes on his own as he avoided his gaze, fully aware of how they were the window to the soul and he probably already saw all that he was thinking.  
“So pretty…” the boy spoke wistfully as he took one of Aster's long ears and scratched a sensitive spot behind it, which caused a low, needy purr to crawl from the depths of Aster's chest. Dammit, he must've thought that Aster had done this for him. Tell him the truth, Aster thought to himself, tell him this wasn't intentional. Do it now, before you feel compelled to drop to the floor and nuzzle against his leg until he gives you a treat for doing absolutely nothing. He has that kind of power over you, y'know. Hell, you two were just playing Mario Kart five minutes ago. And Peach lost to Dry Bones. Now's not the time to regress into a weakling, E.  
“I didn't do this,” Aster finally blurted, a bit louder than originally intended. “I think it was Pitch, somehow. He might've tried to replicate my shapeshifting or gods know what.”  
Jack halted his tickling at Aster's neck and frowned.  
“How does Pitch know about this? Wait, more importantly, why didn't he tell me about it?”  
“Just lucky, I guess,” Aster griped dismissively as he withdrew a container of dental floss from one of the sink drawers and dropped it in Jack's hand. “But I'm definitely gonna kick the living shit out of him for doing this to me. Agh, I feel disgusting in my human form.”  
“First of all, on behalf of most of the human race, I find that highly offensive,” Jack scolded in mock defense, his mouth threatening to curl into a grin. “Second of all, can I come with? I've got a nose for drama this evening.”  
Aster chuckled as he attempted to pull his hair back, but alas, it was still all in vain.  
“That makes one of us.”

•~*•~*•~*

Aster pounded on Pitch's apartment door with brute force.  
“OPEN UP, ASSHOLE!” he screeched. He didn't care if he was waking up the entire building, his regal physique was at stake and his Jack was already behind him, prepared to scare off the annoying elderly neighbors that Pitch resided with. Nobody should be asleep by eleven pm unless they're dead, Aster always reminded himself, usually on days he couldn't stop working on an art piece.  
The door eventually opened with a flourish, and Pitch could very well see the blazing fire in Aster's green eyes. He took a step back to be out of the line of fire for possible, if not definite, punches and kicks from his furious lover.  
“What have you done to me?” and demanded, struggling to keep his shrieking at a minimum.  
“I only brought back the physical form of yours that I loved the most. And, surprisingly, it wasn't your half-form after all.”  
Aster scowled. “How'd ya figure out the formula, then? You can't shapeshift or do magic.”  
That was absolutely correct. Pitch was Catholic and was often repulsed by Aster's pagan practices when they lived together.  
“I sacrificed my beliefs for extensive scientific research,” Pitch replied. “And I almost got it perfectly, save your bunny ears and fluffy white tail. But it'll still do.”  
Aster stood in the doorway, distraught. Pitch broke the long silence as he acknowledged Jack, for once.  
“I see you've met my delightful prince's human form,” he addressed the teen. “Tell me, has he sucked your little icicle of a dick yet?”  
Aster fumed even harder as Jack remained at a loss for words. Jack couldn't have still been this shocked; he's seen a few of Aster's other forms and reacted to them easily. Was his human form really that appealing to tops, like some hazy vision of a guardian angel? Now that Aster thought about it, Jack's initial look practically read, “spread your wings and deliver me into the next eternity.”  
Aster snapped out of his thoughts in time to realize Jack and Pitch were staring at him, which was nothing new, but this time it couldn't be mistaken for anything else but lust.  
“Well, if ya went through all this trouble,” he spoke quietly, “we might as well get on with it.”  
“Yes, please,” Pitch insisted. “And let Frost participate. He should have to play a key part in taking care of both of our desires.”  
Aster and Jack exchanged a long, hard glance before Jack shrugged. The teen didn't think his penis was desirable enough to be fought over until now.  
“Whatever works to get Aster back to normal,” he decided.  
“Of course,” the grey man agreed. “Come on in and make yourselves comfortable. This shouldn't take long.”  
Aster obeyed, Jack following him closely like a white shadow. The three made their way into the dimly lit lounge room, its vanilla-accented fragrances wafting their way into Aster's nostrils. It severely compelled him to quickly tug down his younger boyfriend's drawers, and he did so.  
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Pitch asked from the kitchen. Aster frowned in confusion.  
“What does it look like I'm doin'?!” Aster shot back, aggravated at his interrupted onslaught and gesturing towards Jack's erection through his boxers.  
“There's enough of it for both of you, Pitch!” Jack called out teasingly. “Don't be so greedy!”  
Pitch quickly withdrew from the kitchen, expression unreadable.  
“Did you two think…” his golden eyes widened and his throat released a nasty cackle. Aster and Jack exchanged another look of bewilderment.  
“I'm not gonna use his human form for sex this time!” Pitch wheezed as he strained to compose himself. “I have something else in mind! You two, sit on the couch. I'll bring out refreshments as I refresh your minds with my plan.”  
Jack began to pull his pants back up, but Aster swatted his frail hand away with his own just in time, dipping into a sitting position on the sofa with him. His left hand fiercely protected his boyfriend's boner from shrinking. Pitch soon returned with wine glasses full of cranberry juice and a cheese tray, the latter of which Jack dove into immediately.  
“Come now, Jack,” Pitch scolded lightly. “Leave some for the mother-to-be.”  
“Wait, you're pregnant?” Aster sounded more like he had spoken a statement rather than an interrogative. He daintily picked up a drink and made a tiny toasting gesture to Jack as he took a small sip. He scowled a bit when he realized it wasn't wine.  
“Does your human form make you all the more stupid, buttercup?” Pitch questioned as he rolled his eyes. “I haven't had anyone inside me since grade school.”  
Aster sat back, relieved for but a moment as he stroked Jack's member through his underwear for comfort.  
“I was referring to you, Aster. I injected estrogen and ovary nutrients into the formula that I put in your shampoo,” the man stated calmly.  
Aster spat out his gulp of cranberry juice into a magnificent spray, one that Pitch dodged just in time.  
“Pitch, I can't get pregnant,” Aster insisted as he struggled not to start crying in shock. “There are things I wanna do, sights I wanna see!” he thought for a brief moment, considering a solution.  
“And I will figure out a way to get back into my normal form so it doesn't happen. Ha! Looks like your little plan has failed already, Pitchy.”  
Aster crossed his tattooed human arms and smirked. Pitch's eyes narrowed.  
“I don't think you quite understand why I want this for you, sweetheart,” he spoke solemnly. “Have you ever seen how happy those with child are? It's only another one of my petty desires, to see you carefree and happy, to see your torso begin to pooch with our kits, to see you smile and stroke your offspring's fur as it suckles on your lactating chest, to see an independent pooka depend on me just a bit. There are just so many possibilities.”  
“But there are other ways for me to be happy, Pitch,” Aster insisted wearily as he skin grew clammy at the thought. “Take it from the runt of the litter—pregnancy is no day at the beach. Plus, I don't have a vagina. How would the baby—or babies—even come out?”  
“C-section,” Pitch replied.  
“Wait a minute,” Jack interrupted as he watched Aster's face grow pale. “What makes you think you've impregnated him, anyway? Aster made a pact that you two never have sex.”  
“Didn't he tell you, Jack?” Pitch chuckled as a grin grew on his face. “I fucked his brains out that day you found us at my flat two weeks ago. Of course, it was upon request and on the house. Though, unfortunately, not on the kitchen island this time.”  
Jack stared long and hard at Aster, who was suddenly taking great interest in loosening the suede couch's stitching, intent on having it swallow him like a black hole.  
“I made the pact,” Aster spoke softly as his hand lifted from Jack's boxers. “And I broke it out of spite.”  
“You must understand, dear boy, that Aster sometimes cannot help but be a little promiscuous,” Pitch reassured in sloppy attempts to back Aster up. “You should've seen how tiny his gym shorts were in high school. He was the secret tart for the entire football team in his day, you know. Snuck into the locker room and pleasured them for comfort or congratulations after their games. That's how he afforded his apartment in the first pla—”  
“Shut the FUCK up, Pitch,” Aster hissed as he squeezed Jack's hand.  
There was at least a minute of silence, only the symphony of cars whooshing past on the streets below them to keep it from being enough to kill someone, namely Pitch.  
“Now, you'll have to see your doctor to make sure that I did it all right,” Pitch continued with all the causality that he could muster. “And Aster must report back to me with any new developments. Oh, and sonograms. I'll pay for the whole ordeal since I'm fathering it, and I'm obviously the most wealthy man in this room.”  
Aster looked like he was about to vomit already.  
“Can I go now?” he whispered as his voice cracked, lifting himself from the chartreuse couch at breakneck speed, avoiding eye contact with either one of his partners.  
Jack imitated his actions, locking his eyes with Pitch as they left the apartment. Aster didn't even bother to slam the door behind him, he was so distraught. They were silent for the remainder of their short trip back to Aster's, and the pooka-turned-man immediately set to work on returning to his pooka form, rummaging through his collection of spices and dried fruits for a solution.  
He didn't return from his bedroom for three hours.  
Jack was fast asleep in his own bed, snoring away his collection of thoughts and worries. They only returned to him when he shot up after Aster poked him sharply.  
“I'm not pregnant,” Aster whispered, not needing to but feeling it necessary as although Pitch lived an entire building over, he had ears like a greater wax moth. Aster had finally accomplished regressing back into his regular form, a little bit to Jack's dismay, as he wished to brush his long, wavy hair at some point that night.  
“Are you listening, Jackie?” Aster prodded. “I'm not pregnant; the estrogen Pitch put in the formula still stayed in my system after I switched back, but it wasn't enough. I don't have ovaries, either. That was just stupid. Pitch is just stupid.”  
“Well, how are you gonna break it to him?” Jack questioned.  
“I'm not,” Aster answered, his voice breaking a bit from the leftover estrogen. “I'm still gonna have a kit.”  
“What?!” Jack shrieked, ready to pull all his hair out.  
“I'm not gonna birth it, silly,” Aster groaned, rolling his eyes once again. “I have the perfect plan, probably better than Pitch's. It's gonna be a complicated one, but if Pitch has baby fever all of a sudden, then by gods he's gonna get a baby. And a pregnant Aster to match.”


	6. Lemon Tart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aster sets his fake pregnancy plan into action. Also we further emphasize that Pitch is probably insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this went through SO MANY DRAFTS you have no idea

“One small double chocolate espresso and one large white fudge mocha soy iced latte with whip, if you please. Ooh, and a croissant.”  
“I want one of those cinnamon cookies!”  
“Blegh, fine. And one of those cinnamon cookies for the short one.”  
Aster dug some cash from one of the yellow pockets from his otherwise strawberry-printed dress and dropped it into the barista's hand, instructing him to keep the change.  
“I'm not always the short one, jellybean,” Jack reminded his boyfriend as they found a table near the back of the coffee shop, where the couple was to discuss the elaborate prank that was about to unfold.  
“Only minor details,” Aster dismissed as he took a seat. “And one we shouldn't adhere to if we are to make this fake pregnancy convincing.”  
“Wait,” Jack spoke slowly, attempting to grasp alternate explanations in his mind, “if you're not gonna actually get pregnant, how are you gonna have this baby?”  
“Well,” Aster responded, avoiding Jack's gaze at the bizarreness of the idea, “y'know how they cloned that cat? And that sheep? And…other things?”  
“Yes…”  
“Well, I and most likely every geneticist in the world agree that I am indeed a rare specimen. So who's to say that they wouldn't wanna clone me?”  
“What makes you think they're gonna just give you your clone, Aster? From what I've seen, they coop these things up in labs for the rest of their lives. Oh, and what about the egg cell? Can't fertilize without one of those.”  
“Jack, I am a master of persuasion,” Aster assured him, taking his pale, freezing hand in his paw. “We're gonna get that little bugger one way or another. Hell, maybe it'll be here just in time for Easter. And there are egg cell donations, obviously.”  
“Wait, how long is a pooka pregnant for?”  
“About a month, like normal rabbits. And also like normal rabbits, does are supposed to have eight teets for nursing.”  
“Do you?”  
“Like human men, all my nipples are dysfunctional. However…Pitch thinks the estrogen is gonna put them into full effect.”  
“Jesus,” Jack spoke softly, leaning back in the wrought iron chair. “And how do you suppose we're gonna make you look preg—”  
“Order for Pookie and Mr. Brown Pants,” a barista called out from across the café.  
“That's us!” Jack exclaimed, getting up from his seat to fetch the coffee and pastries.  
“I hate you,” Aster mumbled back as he pulled his long ears over his eyes in embarrassment. Jack returned eleven seconds later, setting up the feast in front of them.  
“Now,” the boy started again (this being his turn to avoid eye contact lest his cornea get singed from the fiery inferno of Aster's glare), “how are we gonna make this pregnancy…physically convincing?”  
“Pregnancy pads,” Aster replied as he gently blew on his espresso. “They use them on TV and for modeling maternity clothes. And they'll probably be one of the only expenses we'll have to worry about during this ordeal, seeing as I'll have Pitch wrapped around my finger when I start to pooch. Oh, that morning sickness sure is tough on an expecting mother, isn't it Jackie? And those convenient cravings…oh, it's more than I could possibly bear.”   
Aster let the back of his paw fall onto his forehead in a mock swoon. Jack chuckled a bit before straightening his demeanor, taking a large bite of his cookie.  
“Why are you doing this for that bastard, anyway? This seems so complicated, I mean, a test tube baby, pregnancy pads? Not to mention the fact that hospital bills aren't fake at all. And the sonograms! Do you really think all of this is gonna work out in your favor, honey?”  
“Hold up mate, too many questions at once. I'm doing this for him because…he needs something to care for other than me. So why not let it be a smaller, inexperienced me? It'll teach him responsibility and integrity and all that shit you see on inspirational whale posters at the dentist. And speaking of which, Tooth is the president of a sorority, meaning she's bound to have had a pregnant chick in there at one point or another, thus we'll have a shitload of books to tackle and all I'll have to do is act out the symptoms. We're not gonna take hospital visits as it will be a home ‘birth.’” Aster used air quotes around “birth” with his free hand as he took another swig of coffee. “We'll print sonograms off the internet. And if the scientists are running a bit behind, well, I'll simply tell them to hurry the fuck up.”  
Aster met Jack's big blue eyes, which sparkled with intrigue. The bunny had done his homework.  
“Trust me, Jack,” he crooned with a soft yet confident chuckle in his throat, “I've got this completely under control.”

~•*~•*•~*•~

Pitch was engulfed in a dream. And he was aware of this fact, mind you, for he never usually awoke to such unusual circumstances. Crystal chandeliers and homely pastel quilts weren't an everyday occurrence in the Black household. But they apparently were in this alternate one that was finally making an appearance to him. Pitch was wealthy, of course, but not wealthy enough to own a house, especially one as vast as this one. In fact, it held an eerie resemblance to the mansion where the exquisite masked orgy had taken place weeks before. How odd. Still, the man emerged from his dream bedroom out into the dream hallway, down the dream flight of stairs and into the dream breakfast nook, somehow knowing where everything was. And he was pleasantly rewarded for his knowledge by the plastic scarlet grin of human Aster. His hair cascaded down to his chest in front of him, as per usual, but there were no tangles or flyaways like before—nothing to brush, nothing to fuss over, no flaws detected in what Pitch considered to be the human's defining physical trait. The same went for his perfectly ironed strawberry printed dress and matching earrings. From what Pitch remembered Aster didn't even have his ears pierced. Nevertheless, rubies in his boyfriend's earlobes was rather charming, and it seemed like Aster knew of this, an almost vain sheen in his sparkling margarita eyes.  
“Good morning, dear,” the former pooka greeted, his voice light and airy for once. “You slept in rather late.”  
Pitch could only nod in response, eyeing the muffin basket in the center of the long table, separating the pair in their parallel seats.  
“You missed the kids,” Aster continued, withdrawing a cloth napkin from his lap and folding it neatly back into place. “They wanted you to see them off on their first day. It's funny—seven children and for once their decision is unanimous. But I'm glad to see all of us are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on this lovely day.”  
This wasn't the real Aster. Pitch knew this. But something seemed very pleasant about him. No snapping in retaliation. No sarcasm. No scoffing at pleas of forgiveness. It was a nice change.  
“Christ, Aster, did you finally wake up on the right side of the bed?” the slightly older man inquired.  
“Ah ah ah, language,” the doppelgänger teased as he withdrew a silver crucifix pendant necklace from his neckline. “And to think you're the one who had to manhandle me so many years ago, just for me to convert and scold you about it. Seems a little cliché, wouldn't you say?”  
“Definitely,” Pitch replied like a child answering rhetorical questions on a kid's show. “Do forgive me, I am not myself today.”  
And it was true. Pitch probably hadn't felt so elated in his life. Out with the botanic smells of witchcraft, in with the sweet smell of the melted wax of Mass. God bless this dream.  
“Well, I'd love to stay and fuck, but I'm hosting that Tupperware party in a half hour and Jack isn't here ye—”  
“SORRY I'M LATE, ASTER!”  
“Oh, there you are!”  
Great, Jack had to go and crash the party. Pitch didn't bother to look at first, expecting Aster to rush over to receive a kiss on those maraschino cherry lips, to swat playfully as the teen's shoulder after being called some new cheesy nickname or receiving a flirtatious suggestion like “You should wear earrings more often!”, to fall into a makeout session right there on the stone-tiled floor.  
“Clean up this filth at once, and make it snappy. I have had it up to HERE with you today, Frost, and you do NOT want me to lose it. God, I hate that there's only one of you around here; not nearly enough work gets done to deserve the paycheck you do.”  
Paycheck? Pitch looked up from his poppyseed-infested observations. Jack was wringing his hands together thoroughly as Aster was going to town belittling him. The youth seemed to be wearing what appeared to be an exact replica of Aster's work uniform, silk gloves and all. Whoever was in charge of costume design in Pitch's subconscious had to be fired quickly if he was ever to get that image out of his mind. But what was worse about it, at least for Jack, was how exhausted he looked. His blue eyes had lost their twinkle, swallowed by purple flesh rings of defeat. His expression was one of pure apathy, as if he had to deal with a screechy Australian rant every day since birth. It was almost sad for Pitch to see. But not quite.  
It had been another full minute before Aster finished his hullabaloo about Magnolia Everhart's prized casserole and how it couldn't just be set on the ground, could it Jack? After that Jack quickly set to work on scrubbing the lacquer off the already spick and span oak table, which was covered by a stark white tablecloth anyway.  
“We've got another big day ahead of us, so smiling faces are strictly mandatory!” Aster concluded, beginning to sound like he was only talking to hear the sound of his own voice. He then spun around, his dress twirling with him to face Pitch, his eyes seemingly empty in their dreamlike state. Pitch was one of the few who truly looked into people's eyes when they dreamed, as they were always puppets and pawns appealing only to his circumstances. And what he received in return was nothingness, which was rather macabre, but fine nonetheless. Maybe Pitch was sadistic in that way.  
“Oi, Pitch, wake up!” Aster spoke, voice muffled but mouth moving clearly. Pitch didn't know which was odder: what Aster said or the odd way he said it.  
“Wake up!” he repeated insistingly, his eyes losing their hazy nothingness and transforming back into a fiery green.  
Pitch arose from his bed like the dead, taking in a huge gasp from one of those rare pleasant dreams he didn't know he lusted for. He turned to Aster who was at his bedside, a slightly concerned look on his pooka face. He was wearing the same dress as his alter did in the dream.  
“Where did your earrings go?” Pitch inquired with half-lidded eyes.  
“I don't have my ears pierced, doofus,” Aster replied in a slightly monotone voice, examining his cuticles.  
“It's just that I had the most wonderful dream. You were in it.”  
“Well if it's your most wonderful dream then it's probably my worst nightmare. But I didn't come here for chit chat, y'know.”  
Pitch leaned up against his headboard, closing his eyes as he felt a headache coming on.  
“Your plan worked. I'm pregnant.”  
Pitch shot back up immediately.  
“You are?” He clasped his hands together in satisfaction. “I knew you could do it!”  
“You tricked me into it,” Aster reminded him, his gentle voice beginning to crescendo.  
“Silly rabbit, tricks are for kids. But this time, this trick is going to make one.”  
“Whatever. Would you like to see the sonogram?”  
“How did you acquire it so quickly?”  
“The pregnancy's only gonna last a month. Here.”  
Aster handed him a photograph of a rabbit fetus.  
“It's different for us, y'know?” he pooka smiled nervously, twiddling his thumbs.  
“Of course.”  
“Okay, now that we're getting somewhere and you wanted to pay for all the expenses, I have a list of demands.” Aster pulled out his phone and opened his notes, scrolling down the list.  
“We need furniture, wallpaper, paint and assorted accessories for the baby's room. We also need decorations for the baby shower. Oh, and maternity dresses. Designer ones only.”  
“I don't think you need designer maternity dresses if you're only going to be pregnant for a month.”  
“But Pitch…” Aster whined, rubbing a soothing paw over his flat stomach. “the baby…”  
“Oh…fine. But why haven't we talked about the kit's sex yet? Or what he'll look like? Or if he's gonna be a flaming homosexual? There are far too many questions you haven't bothered to answer, for some reason.”  
Aster looked to the ground, having cautiously avoided those questions until now.  
“I'm betting it's a boy. And that he'll look like me. I don't know anything else. I'm leaving all that in the doctor's hands.”  
“I see. What's his name?”  
Aster wrung his hands together. “Um, I was kinda wanting him to have the same first name as me.”  
“Eggbert is one of the stupidest names in existence. And you know this, otherwise you wouldn't go by Aster in the first place.”  
“It's a completely sensible name!” Aster snapped, aggravated already and wanting to take on the demanding pregnancy approach smoothly. “It's my baby and I'm naming him whatever the fuck I want! I'm the birth giver so I make the rules, kapeesh?!”  
“Fine!”  
“Fine! And this was the stupidest scheme you've ever executed! And that's saying a lot.”  
“It's only a month, you spoiled, whiny little shit. All those feelings are gonna change once you feel that tiny life inside of you. Then you'll be begging to hold him, to feed him, to coo at him like nothing you've ever felt. And you'll thank me. You'll thank me every hour of every day that child is in your care, because you'll come to find that you've stopped screeching, yelling, and carrying on as you do.”  
Aster's mouth clamped shut. He liked kids, but he didn't like the thought of raising one, knowing he would screw up at some point along the road. Still, even if he wasn't really pregnant, it might be nice being the one to tell Pitch what to do, for once. He looked like he needed to know what it was like to take so many orders, and this was the perfect opportunity. And he could suck Pitch's bank account through a straw all the while. Aster smirked at his own conclusion, before adapting it into a toothy, plastic smile.  
“I couldn't agree more,” he softly responded, making the back of his hands the pedestal for his head and leaning against the bed. He received a loving kiss on the forehead from his significant other in return, and he struggled not to purr, not to show too much weakness. He could barely comprehend Pitch's matching tone.  
“Now that's more like it.”


	7. Puits d'amour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aster's still fake-pregnant. Pitch is still fake-in-control. Jack is still fake-understanding all of it. But I'm a real fic writer—no matter how fake my release date promises seem to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {Me in November: Will post next chapter soon!!  
> Me in June: I am in writer's hell. My jackrabbit passion has been hanging on by a thread. I now run a successful roleplay blog that took over my life (ask-submissive-bunnymund.tumblr.com) oh and I got my tonsils out. Here's this wild shit I started in November and FINALLY finished editing TODAY...and the first half is rather embarrassing considering I've kinda cooled it with the whole petplay thing but you know what...I try my best. Oh also as for the people still interested in this mess...thanks. I truly mean that (especially lil six-year-old me who wanted to be a novelist but was always worried about being too cheesy) and now I'm being cheesy so anyway idk when the next update is but I know which direction this is headed so that's enough for me.}

Aster was technically supposed to be indulging in his third trimester. The baby shower came and went. The maternity dresses were delivered to his doorstep almost daily. Pitch insisted that he eat for the baby constantly, and he had to make up strange food combinations to be the most convincing he could be.  
But it wasn't enough.  
The pregnancy pad was itchy. He had to eat repulsive foods to keep the imaginary baby healthy. He had to keep up a ditzy performance constantly, and conduct a light, airy voice around his older boyfriend. And Aster must've been such a nuisance, not like he cared, with his insistent yelling of “BUCKET” or “FOOD” or “REMOTE” or just collapsing into a puddle of faux tears and snot-soaked weeping. Aster was a living nightmare, and he was enjoying every second of it.  
But here he was, enjoying one of his last few doses of free time alone with Jack. The aroma of the vanilla candles relaxed him. His tail was pricked up in that cheeriness he so often conveyed in these rare doses. His paws raked lovingly through Jack's hair as his ears were soaked in that all-too-familiar, triumphant symphony of sheer delight.  
“Ah…ah…ah, keep, bouncing, kee-ah, keep, bouncing, baby, don't, AH, stop, you're, doing, so, good, so, tight, ah, ah, ah, aH, AH, AH, OH, GOD, BUNNY, BUNNY I'M COMING, BUNNY, OH BUNNY, BUN—ahhhhh…”  
Jack's panting subsided as he thrusted the remnants of his seed into Aster. The pooka drew in a throaty gasp as he was filled to the brim, leaning against Jack's chest as his bounces ground to a halt, the jingling on his collar slowing. He rested his stocking-clad haunches, struggling to keep his breathing steady as he took a deep, lingering seat on Jack's member. He moaned as he did so.  
“You're too big sometimes,” Aster whimpered into Jack's ear as he clutched the youth's leather jacket, leaning even further into his body to use it as a pillow. Jack patted Aster's back lovingly as he squeezed Aster's ass with his other hand. He loved how much Aster depended on him in pet mode, how significant he felt. He didn't get off on it as often or as intensely as Pitch seemed to, but he knew where the man was coming from, and even more so now that Jack had spoiled Aster with something expensive: a corset of a pale pink satin material that was covered in cobwebs of fine lace and clusters of tiny little butterflies. And Aster looked absolutely precious walking around the house in it, sophisticated even, especially given the fact that the clumsy clomp-thumps of the steps in his platforms against the tile floor had now quieted into elegant click-clacks. It was the little things that stood out to Frost the most.  
Suddenly, Jack felt a warm, creamy moisture trickle slowly down his abdomen. He looked down and raised an eyebrow questioningly towards Aster upon realizing that it wasn't himself getting too deep in thought.  
“Looks like someone couldn't help himself, hm?” he mocked, immersed in his dominant persona as the tips of his mouth curled upward. “What a naughty little bunny you are.”  
“I'm so sorry, sir!” Aster whined in character. “I tried to hold it, I really did, but when you—”  
“Hush,” Jack spoke gently, tracing his finger down Aster's nose and cocking his head to the side, smirking and reveling in how apologetic Aster was. “Always so wet at the sight of me. Still, I thought we agreed today that you would only come when I say so. You weren't using your listening ears then, were you Bun-Bun?” Jack punctuated this by stroking the base of both of Aster's ears. Aster's eyes rolled to the back of his head so that only the whites were visible, and he could only nod weakly in response.  
“Now, this sort of behavior usually requires a spanking…” Jack smiled as Aster's eyes widened and he quickly shook his head in hasty protest. “But since this fuck is your reward for successfully convincing Pitch you're pregnant…maybe I'll just direct you to the chocolates I have hidden behind the cushion.”  
Aster released a laugh of bafflement as Jack withdrew a red heart-shaped box of truffles, each one crafted just for Aster. The rabbit kept his seat on Jack's dick as he watched him untie the sparkly ribbon and open the box, revealing a decadent repertoire of gourmet chocolates. Jack grinned as he watched Aster's face light up with intrigue and an innocent curiousity, and the teen reached for the first chocolate that caught his icy blue eyes—a white one with a black drizzle. He held it up over Aster's head, just out of reach.  
“What do we say?” he asked rhetorically.  
“Please?” Aster requested sweetly as he squirmed uncomfortably atop Jack's penis. Frost smiled and dropped the treat in the rabbit's mouth.  
“Good boy!” he praised, fluffing the fur on Aster's face as the rabbit involuntarily humped against him, subconsciously making sure the boy's boner didn't go away just yet. God, it felt splendid. His body squeezed against it to milk out any leftover seed, teeth crushing the chocolate in his mouth and releasing a burst of cherry syrup. His tail wagged as he closed his eyes, silently requesting more.  
Jack started to think it over and stroke his chin just as Aster's cell rang. The crease between the pooka's eyebrows grew apologetically as he shimmied off of the poking in his rear, grimacing as he made awkward attempts at walking and picking up his phone.  
“Hullo?” he greeted, eyes too bleary to check the caller ID.  
“Someone's caught in his headspace,” the voice on the other line sang. Aster snarled in reply.  
“You don't know, Pitch. You're not even in the right window view to know.”  
“I don't need to see it to know it; I'm not some voyeur watching you through binoculars.”  
“Could've fooled me.”  
“I know it from the reluctant strain in your voice, the bashful tone setting off a vibration that you don't know what's coming next, that you have lived your entire life to please lingering gentleme—”  
“That's enough,” Aster interrupted in the most authoritative adult voice he could possibly muster under the circumstances. “I'm not in my headspace, I'm just pregnant. Buh-bye!”  
“I'm in your building.”  
Aster's eyes widened as his finger pounded on the hang-up button. He whipped his head around to face Jack.  
“Pregnant mode. Now.”  
Pregnant mode was a process of precision, with more accuracy and stealth to it than the average corporate fire drill. They practiced this once weekly on the slight chance that Pitch would surprise them in the middle of fucking, and for all that man knew Aster didn't fuck while pregnant, nor did he shapeshift, lest he damage the baby in one way or another. Pregnant mode went as follows: Jack removes dominant clothing. He then unbuckles Aster's collar, as only he and Pitch are the only ones who can reach around do so. Aster quickly removes his own body straps, then lingerie, then gloves. Aster shifts into his full form, grabbing the pregnancy pad from the side table and slipping it on. Meanwhile, Jack acquires one of Aster's maternity kimonos and helps him tie it on, before grabbing a Tupperware bowl from the kitchen. Aster receives it and flops onto the nearest plush surface, preparing the waterworks in case they come in handy at any lull in the conversation.  
The lock on the door rattled. Aster screeched in retaliation as he struggled to pull the green kimono on, and Jack quickly covered the rabbit's muzzle with his palm. Aster immediately melted at the touch, and instantly became useless due to being easily turned on after sex. Jack shoved a dopey-eyed Aster onto the couch, silently instructing him to lie down and covering him with a fleece blanket.  
Frost closed his eyes. It was up to him to be convincing now. Maybe Aster'll catch the hint and he'll pretend to be asleep. Jack felt so weird being the figurative bigger man sometimes. Having to make the big decisions—well, at least the ones that didn't have anything to do with taxes. Aster was so tough out there in the big world, but domestically he was only a sweet albeit stuffy, uptight bunny.  
The door was unlatched and swung open by none other than Pitch, who owned a key.  
“I brought him and the baby a muffin basket,” the man began, holding it up as if it were incriminating evidence in a court trial. Jack smiled genuinely as he gazed at the muffins, wordlessly reserving nine out of the ten for only himself.  
“You're such a sweetheart!” Jack crooned in the most go-away-so-my-mate-isn't-stressed-from-lying voice he could muster. “I'll just put it on the counter until he's hungry. Can't overfeed him, y'know? Poor things's ready to burst with all that baby tucked away inside of him.”  
“I'm not a guest at Aster's baby shower, Jack. I know what my buttercup likes.” He ventured over to the couch. Aster's eyes lazily lolled upwards in vague curiosity. Pitch knelt down beside the couch as if he were praying either for or to his Aster.  
“Evening, darling,” he greeted with a soft smile. His hand gently explored the fake womb as he gazed into his lover's decidedly apathetic eyes. “Enjoying your bed rest?”  
Aster grunted in reply, shifting his position until he was sitting up on the couch. “What brings you to my personal hell?” he asked, curiosity at a grinding halt.  
Pitch pulled a digital camera out from his obsidian denim pocket.  
“I was planning on becoming a one-hit filmmaker today,” he replied.  
“Now's not the best time to get into your porn phase, dear,” the pooka replied dismissively. “I'm in no position to be your submissive little starlet.”  
“What makes you think that's where I was headed?” Pitch demanded, looking slightly hurt. “I'm not that repulsive—no, I was wanting to make a documentary, starring you and me and also Jack, I suppose.”  
Aster's ear twitched. Something was up about Pitch's tone. He was being just a little too…nice.  
“Ooh, a documentary!” Aster clasped his hands together in mock approval, shaking off the wry thoughts. “I for one can't wait to see it when my post-partum depression kicks the bucket.” His eyes then widened in familiarity. “Jack, gimme the bucket.”  
Jack handed a Tupperware bowl to him and Aster grabbed it quickly, gagging up a hairball. He looked up at Pitch as he wiped his mouth with his arm.  
“I just keep throwing up,” he needlessly explained.  
“Right. Well, the film is to be for the baby, when he's old enough to comprehend the concepts we're going to dish right out.”  
“Concepts like…” Aster raised a brow.  
“Like how you can shapeshift, for instance. And how Jack is our servant. And how—”  
“Wait, servant?” Jack was baffled. “Since when?”  
Pitch chuckled. “You won't be our real servant, silly boy. You'll just wear Aster's work uniform and do as I say without complaint. I'll pay you ten dollars an hour, how's that sound?”  
“Nobody's paying anybody anything,” Aster protested, his fake tears preparing themselves for entry.  
“Oh, good, so you'll do it for free. Here are your scripts.”  
Aster yanked his script out of Pitch's hand, skimming it over.  
“Why do I have to be cooking a pot roast?” he questioned. “I'm a vegetarian.”  
“But the child won't be. You said so yourself, we want what's best for the baby. And what's best is for you to look…homely.”  
“I AM SO FUCKING HOMELY—”  
“Pitch, please, you're gonna make Aster cry again.”  
“Oh? For the fifth time this week, was it?”  
“I will shove this baby straight up your asshole, I swear to Christ.”  
“Please, Aster, we know you haven't the strength to shove anything up anyone's asshole.”  
“Okay boys,” Jack interrupted, shoving Pitch and Aster's heads apart. “I'll put on the uniform for Pitch's sake. We can do it just to get it overwith, how's that sound?” He offered Aster a bright smile as the pooka glared right back, wondering why he couldn't fake a water breaking to change the subject.  
“Whatever.”

*~•*~•*~•*

“Welcome To The World, starring Aster Bunnymund, take seven. And…action.”  
Aster spun around to face his director, his human hair in a blue beehive and his body adorned with something out of a nineteen-fifties housewife catalogue. His colorful floral skirt matched annoyingly well with his shoes, and the pot roast in his hands glistened in all its revolting meat-ness. Still, Aster smiled brightly like there was no tomorrow, the kind of smile that makes one wonder if that person is watching their child sing off-key at a school assembly but they're proud of them anyway.  
“Hello, my brilliant, dazzling offspring!” Aster practically sang. “I'm your gentle, doting birthgiver Aster. You currently have a lovely home in my belly, but not for long! So today I'm going to introduce you to the world you're to live in for the rest of the foreseeable future!”  
Aster turned to Jack, his jaw hurting massively. The boy wasn't moving. One would think he would remember his cue for the seventh consecutive take. Pitch met Aster's gaze before glaring at the boy and snapping his fingers. Frost shuffled out of the corner sheepishly, decked in Aster's frilly uniform.  
“Hello, child,” Jack spoke in monotone, staring straight into the camera. “I am Jack. You will see me on occasion but I am not your dad. I am just here. Don't strain yourself, Aster. Take roast.”  
“Dearie,” Aster hissed, “you gotta actually take the roast from my hands.”  
“Cut!” Pitch called out, turning off his camera and getting up from the couch and storming over to Jack.  
“Where is your enthusiasm that you so often convey to the world, Frost?” Pitch demanded. “Why aren't you more eager to put on a show?”  
“I'm not like Aster, old man,” Jack argued. “Some people aren't completely comfortable with acting or dressing in women's clothes! I have no problem with Aster doing that sort of thing, but I. Have. Limits. And my script is AWFUL compared to Aster's!”  
“That's because I wrote you in at the last minute. God, Aster's so much better at acting than you.”  
“Pitch, please. It's pretty late, I think we all oughta hit the sack. Just edit shit until he's Oscar-worthy, alright?”  
“I don't ask for much, you know,” Pitch said coldly, rubbing his temples. “All I wanted was a baby or five. Perfection. Affection. And a film to document your journey to happiness.”  
Aster placed his hand on his fake womb, scowling.  
“You're being a drama queen. This is exactly why we split up in the first place; we're like the same sides of a magnet. We've got so much in common we repel. You better straighten up your act right the fuck now before I send you home for the night.”  
“Please, you're not my mother, you're his,” Pitch reminded Aster while pointing almost insultingly at the same womb. It was time for the waterworks.  
“A-All I ever wanted to do was make you ha-happy, Pitch,” Aster whimpered with a wobble in his tone and the dam in his tear ducts breaking promptly. “I-I-I got a baby in me, f-for Christ's sake, I dunno what the hell there is left to do t-to make you love m-me…” He sniffed and grabbed a kitchen towel to dab at his eyes. Pitch quickly rushed over and held him close, the absolutely phoniness leaping right over his head as he kissed his scalp adoringly.  
“I'll call it a wrap if you insist, buttercup. You need a nap, no, a full night's rest. I know that's a foreign concept to you but you might enjoy it, I hear it's popular among the young folks. Hell, try a full-on coma.”  
The tall man left shortly after that, leaving Aster and Jack in the entrance.  
“Dear God, I thought he'd never leave,” Aster muttered, shaking his head. Jack seemed to be in a trance, as he often was when he pondered the complications of Pitch and Aster's relationship. He was only snapped out of it when his own cell rang with a vaguely familiar number.  
“Hello?”  
A few moments of silence passed. The voice must have been very quiet as even Aster couldn't hear whoever was on the other line.  
“Are you sure? Uh…okay. Thanks!”  
Jack slipped his phone in his pocket, looking like he was about to faint.  
“Your water broke.”


End file.
